Last morning in India finds me in bed, well after the racket in the streets began warbling its dissonant raga,

thinking about those large bats I saw swooping wide circles in the sky in the translucent hour before nightfall,

blind but feeding on perfected echo. This was yesterday as I walked towards the abandoned shell of a school where

I once learned geography and equations, the practical kind that took me to college and beyond, into a world where I learned

to earn above and beyond my daily bread. Yet see how this morning comes again with its sharp hunger for a warm presence

under the famished hand. And hear, with eyes forcibly closed, how pale music once found via echolocation dissolves into nothingness again.

Note: These lines are in some fashion related to this sequence, also featuring bats. Also a previous aubade.